Bite the Bullet
by Objessions
Summary: Tag to 2:11 For fun and because this had some great moments I want to go deeper with. Also, a surprise visit from everyone's favorite nemesis is cause for celebration. Standard Disclaimers Apply
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes Mac wondered how Jack, who had seen and done more in the last half decade than most people managed in whole lifetimes, could have gotten through fifty plus years on the planet and be so damned superstitious.

And it wasn't just stuff like believing in the Bermuda Triangle's curse or his conviction that there were aliens at Area 51. He wouldn't step on a crack in the sidewalk, always tossed salt over his shoulder if he spilled some, and did ridiculous crap like counting down the floors out loud on an elevator to keep it from stopping.

And it should have been obvious to a college educated, highly trained, vastly experienced adult that that sort of stuff was nonsense. Of course, after all their time working together Jack still believed in luck. Mac had started to think that maybe he was right, maybe luck did exist. And all theirs was bad.

Since they made it home for Christmas, Mac was doing his best to get that particular cheerful thought out of his head. Although the shoulder he'd taken all of their captive mob boss's weight on in that elevator was still sore.

And despite the festive atmosphere he and Boze had managed to create in their house, Jack-I-Do-Believe-In-Spooks Dalton had the gall to argue with him about the possibility of Santa Claus existing. And the argument had been going on for quite a while.

"Jack, I'm not saying I have proof, per say. I'm just saying that you can't use the scientific method to prove a negative, therefore, as a man of science, I have to accept the possibility that he's real."

Jack was giving him the look, the one that said he thought maybe Mac was screwing with him. "You gotta drop this, man. This is what happens to kids who grow up without siblings. Nobody's around to ruin things for 'em and they turn in to delusional adults."

"I'm just saying …"

"Why do you do this every year, dude?"

"Prove he's not real," Mac challenged.

Jack looked like his head was going to explode. This was like giving him one of those logic puzzles Mac liked to drag up on stakeouts. It was already giving him a headache. "Santa not real, okay?"

Mac just grinned, ready with the math. And this time he'd taken the coefficient of friction, altitude, and atmospheric conditions into account. Not that any of the math changed the underlying argument that it was an unprovable, and thus unknowable question, but he thought it would piss Jack off enough to make him stop arguing.

When Cage joined the conversation, how she phrased her question irked him just a little bit. _Am I a grown man who still believes in Santa? Grown man?_ He took a deep breath and knew he couldn't quite help the slightly superior look that had just frozen on his face. Then again, he thought, maybe Cage was someone he could win over to his side. It was based on the objective application of a proven method of inquiry. "I'm a grown man who can't rule out the existence of Santa."

He knew from her smiling reaction that he'd just gotten an ally in getting under Jack's skin about this. Both of their faces when he started explaining the math were priceless. He could feel himself flush just a little when Jack started telling the story of the time he tried to Santa up Jack's apartment.

As far as pranks went, it paled in comparison to some of the crap he'd pulled when they were in Afghanistan, but it was much more good-willed than the mean-spirited stuff soldiers had a tendency to get up to when they were bored.

Of course, it had been a good lesson in don't sneak up on Jack Dalton, especially on his home turf. When Cage said she liked to keep an open mind about the jolly old elf, Mac had half an idea that she'd probably get a kick out of someone pulling the Santa bit on her, and he knew she could read the thought in his face.

And the fact that Cage was finally able to say she felt like family, the fact that she was finally not acting like the weird neighbor kid, but really fitting in with them all, made their little gathering feel that much nicer, that much homier. Mac was starting to shake the feeling that bad luck might just be real, and that he'd caught a bad case of it.

He'd just started to really enjoy himself, just had enough of Grandma Bozer's special recipe about-a-million-proof eggnog that he'd nearly forgotten about his sore shoulder, when Matty walked in with news that took the fair wind that had been blowing across the sea of his mind right out of his sails.

A fatality in that building, someone caught in the blast from a bomb he had built. The idea made him sick to his stomach. He'd barely even processed that Matty said the LAPD was coming for him. He was too busy diving in to the downward spiral of rapidly darkening thoughts to even process the team's reassurances that they'd get him out of the situation.

It wasn't about the situation with the police. It was about a man dying. Sitting right next to the fire, on a mild Los Angeles evening, he felt cold. Everyone was looking at him. They were waiting for him to say something. But he couldn't, didn't have any words. Plenty of guilt, but no words.

Then the doorbell rang, quickly followed by aggressive knocking. Everyone was still looking at him. He swallowed, just glanced around, his face almost an apology, and got up, heading for the front of the house. He could feel them, hear them all following him, but he just made his way purposefully to the door.

The man standing in front of him when he opened it had the look of a career cop who had seen it all, and liked none of it. "Angus Macgyver?"

His guilt could be dealt with later. Keeping his cover, that was the important thing at the moment. And finding a way clear from the law. He reminded himself firmly that whatever had happened, he'd been doing his job. He gazed levelly back, feeling his game face suddenly slide into place.

He found he was finally able to speak. "Yes." He would acknowledge his identity, nothing more.

"You're under arrest for the murder of George Ramsey."

As they cuffed him and read him his rights, he hazarded a look at the team, the team that tonight finally acknowledged it felt like a family, all of them. He tried to keep his expression neutral, but when he locked eyes with Jack, the look he saw flash across Jack's face told him the fear he was feeling that he might not get out of this situation, the guilt that was trying to crush him that he might have ended an innocent life, were in his eyes.

But, he reminded himself, he could do this. He'd been captured by hostiles multiple times and interrogated with much less polite means than the LAPD were likely to use. And this time, he didn't just have Jack trying to cobble together a solution to get him out. He had the whole team, and their faces said they would do anything and everything to help him.

All he had to do was keep it together.

All he had to do was try and change his luck.


	2. Chapter 2

Through transport, booking, and being moved to Interrogation, Mac never said a word. He wasn't doing it to purposely get under the detective's skin, but that's what it seemed to be accomplishing.

Well, there was nothing he could do about that. There was nothing he could say that would exonerate him, not without blowing his cover anyway. And, if he was honest, every time he thought about the very real possibility that he had killed a civilian, he felt like he was going to throw up. Keeping his mouth closed just seemed like the wisest thing he could do.

He thought he'd been doing a pretty good job of keeping his face neutral, too. But the reaction in the detective's eyes when he brought out the photographs told Mac that maybe, just maybe, something like guilt had flashed over his face for a moment.

The guy had a family. _Jesus_.

He closed his eyes for a second. It was getting harder to keep his shit together. And he wasn't even sure why. All this cop was doing was asking questions. Not exactly "enhanced interrogation". He'd seen worse pictures in his day, no question. But this was bad.

The cop hadn't given any indication of why they thought it was him, but Mac had a creeping, cold feeling that it was solid. This guy looked way too confident for it to be entirely circumstantial. But how? Riley was so careful. Shit, he swore to himself. He and Jack thought they'd been careful, too, but here was an autopsy photo right in front of him that said otherwise.

He glanced up at the clock.

He'd been here for a while. Where the hell was Jack? Or any of his team? If they hadn't ridden in on white horses yet … No. He wasn't going to think like that. There was no way his team was going to let him sit here and get painted as some mad bomber. They'd come. All he had to do was stay quiet.

0-0-0

Back at Phoenix Headquarters the War Room was getting increasingly tense. Jack was on the verge of shouting almost every word he said. It had Riley nearly frantic at her keyboard. So this was what it felt like to have Jack's Papa Bear instincts all geared up full throttle when you weren't the cub he was trying to protect. Poor Mac, she thought. Jack chewed him out over her all the time. She thought if he didn't calm down pretty soon, he was going to either punch something, like the glass Matty had only just managed to replace after Mac broke it or chuck her laptop right down the hall.

It made Riley feel a little better when he yelled at Matty, too. Jack tried very hard to cover up the so angry and scared he was about ready to cry emotions he was feeling by just saying this was about owing Mac some turnabout. Not that anyone with half a brain would by it, but it felt good to say. It felt good to hide behind something that seemed rational. Jack didn't think he'd ever been this worried, not even when Murdoc had nabbed the kid this fall.

When Matty articulated just why this was so bad, just how complicated this was, and just how vulnerable it made the whole organization Jack wanted to just sit down in the damned War Room and cry. And she was right. God damnit he hated it when that woman was right about stuff like this. Which was pretty much always.

Except, when he paused to think about it she wasn't. Or if she was it didn't really matter. Mac hadn't done anything wrong. Matty had sent them in with bad intel. And the team had just done the best they could with what they had. Including Mac. And part of Jack wanted to just take responsibility for the full fuck up this just was turning out to be. But he couldn't. This was on everybody, and no one more than Matty who'd made the call to run with the intel.

Come hell or high water, Jack was going to get Mac out of this. Riley had said, when he and Mac first went to her that DXS was so powerful, so off the grid, it could move Christmas. And last Jack checked, things hadn't changed much with their name. Seeing Matty and the rest of the team unsure of what to do, Jack did what came naturally to him since his Army days. He took charge.

And no one questioned his orders even once; they just hopped to.

They were going to fix this.

0-0-0

When the cop used the word IED and then said, sounding more than half as impressed as he was pissed off, that it was made of stuff that was just lying around, Mac had the overwhelming, and totally irrational urge to laugh for a split second. That's what IEDs were. 'Improvised' was in the damned name. That's one of the things that made them so damned deadly in war. You never knew exactly what you were going up against.

While Mac was still feeling pretty guilty about the guy who was probably still in a drawer in the ME's office, he was also starting to get annoyed. He'd been here for a full quarter of a day now and it was the same questions, the same pictures over and over again. And he was meeting them with the same determined silence.

He was starting … okay, maybe more than starting … To worry that Phoenix wasn't going to be able to help him.

When the cop got up and left, Mac was sure he was being watched through the one-way glass. Then he was just grateful to have a couple of minutes of not having to meet the guy's eyes and resist the urge to say, "Hey, asshole, we're on the same side, okay?" It's not like it was the cop's fault.

Mac took a couple of deep breaths, rolled his shoulders a little, and shifted in his chair, trying to loosen up some of the muscle tension that sitting for any length of time always brought on. His inability to fidget, given that he was cuffed to the table, and that he also had been tamping down on the urge so as not to appear nervous, had him wound up into knots.

As he relaxed a bit, his brain started kicking back into high gear.

His mind began turning over the possibilities. Okay, so whatever they had on him was good, solid intel. Otherwise they would have brought it up by now so he could incriminate himself. They didn't need him to shore it up for them. That wasn't great.

And Phoenix hadn't shown up yet. Also not awesome. And they had him under his own name, which they were probably running right now. Once the FBI kicked it back with his military records that would have his clearance and specialty listed, this was probably going to get intense.

He started looking around the room. He wasn't actively thinking about trying to escape here. At least he told himself he wasn't. It just broke up the monotony, the silence to start to consider his options. It calmed him. The way doing a crossword chilled Riley out, or coloring in one of those adult coloring books made Bozer feel better.

He took another deep breath and squared his shoulders. He looked steadily at his own reflection, positive the cop was on the other side.

He didn't know if he could get out of this on his own merits or without breaking some rules, hell, some laws. But he knew one thing.

He wasn't going down without a fight.

He glanced at the clock again.

 _C'mon, Jack_ , he thought. _You love a good fight._

 _And I don't want to do this alone._


	3. Chapter 3

Jack was ready to either climb the walls or tear some faces off, and the team around him who didn't seem to be able to come up with one thing that might get Mac clear were the first on his list at the moment. Even the stuff that they usually did as a matter of course, like using thermals on the building, had been absent on this hastily laid on op.

He'd never liked Samantha Cage more than when she offered to be fresh eyes on their information, until she started her subtle interrogation of the team. She did have a knack for asking questions in ways that got people talking. Even Bozer, who usually you couldn't shut up, had been unusually tight lipped as they tried to figure this out. Cage got the words flowing again.

Bozer was glad that Matty wasn't in the room when he had to admit to him and Mac just blowing off work to play ping pong down in the lab. It was even harder to admit that Mac had been letting him win. He'd suspected it, but almost felt hopeful that he'd actually upped his own game when Sparky suggested that an injury was the reason for Mac's subpar play.

The dirty look Mac had first shot the robot had almost made Bozer think that was it. Nothing his boy hated worse than being outed for being hurt if he was determined to ignore it. But the guilty glance Mac threw his way let him know, there wasn't some pulled muscle behind how high Boze had been scoring, or Mac's obviously sluggish movements in play. Mac had been letting him win.

And, as usual, Mac was just doing it to be a great friend. Bozer swallowed hard as he recounted their conversation for the rest of the team. What he didn't say was that he thought Mac read something in his face when he had to look Mac in the eye and pretend that he was still all broken up over Leanna being out of his life. He thought, as he looked around the War Room, that maybe Cage had his number, too. But like Mac, she didn't say anything, just let him keep talking about the mission.

As they talked through the scene in the War Room that led to this disaster, Jack shook his head. Other than how damned sexy that gun was, he didn't really have any interest in going over it again. The intel was garbage from the get go. Incomplete and hasty. And Matty had known it.

But, Jack pulled back on his anger; it wasn't like they'd had much choice. CIA couldn't touch the op with a ten-meter cattle prod (his and Mac's favorite Ghostbuster's quote for any untenable situation) and since this was going down on their home turf, that left them. So they'd headed out, knowing just how sketchy this was going to be to get those guns off the streets before they did any damage.

0-0-0

Mac swallowed hard when the cops showed him the evidence bag with the melted and twisted G36. Great. Now they thought he was not only a bomb maker, but an arms dealer, too. He could almost hear Jack's voice in his ear. "And the hits just keep on comin'."

 _Yeah, pal, they really do_ , he answered the imaginary Jack with a sigh. He was starting to lose his ability to just keep still. His cuffed hands started tingling a couple of hours ago and now they were going back and forth between being numb and aching.

And honestly, as he watched time tick by on the clock, he found himself more and more angry about this whole situation. Besides, the bush league interrogation tactics used by the police were just getting on his nerves. Did anyone really just cave to this crap? He remembered thinking more than once that Cage's abilities as an interrogator were maybe being a little oversold by both her and Matty, but in retrospect, he thought she was pretty damned smooth. He was going to have to tell her so.

If he ever got the hell out of here.

"You learn that in EOD?" was clearly meant as bait, to shock him that they knew about his past.

Mac just stared back, face just shy of impassive now.

The cop seemed to take that as a challenge and set down what must have been their key piece of evidence against him. Mac kept his reaction off his face, breathing carefully though his stomach dropping and the cold sweat that was breaking out all over his body. He was looking at a very clear image of him right next to that warehouse.

 _Son of a bitch_.

Then, in quick succession the cops laid out the time stamp on the picture placing him at the scene, as well as the fact that they'd recovered finger prints from the bomb he'd used to destroy those guns.

Mac was worried for himself, sure, but he was also worried that if they kept digging, they'd find some connection to the rest of his team, to Phoenix. If the cops tumbled to what really went down before someone had started damage control on the intel, things could get bad. Really bad.

He didn't know where the hell Phoenix was, but he was by God going to find out. "I want my phone call. Now," he said, not quite able to keep his anger and frustration in check anymore.

When the cops laughed at him, they seemed genuinely amused.

"What do you mean I don't get a phone call?" Was this more poor-tactic interrogation designed to shake up someone who didn't know their rights?

When the cop responded that he was being charged with domestic terrorism, Mac felt for a moment like the bottom had dropped out of his world. Stopping terrorists was what he did. The idea of being thought of as one of them … He felt a brief moment of panic, and then he did what he always fell back on.  
He took a deep breath and forced himself to think.

Unfortunately, his normally nimble mind came up completely blank.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm not who you think I am," he finally stated, frustrated and frankly exhausted. He knew he shouldn't have opened his mouth. But he was past the point of tolerance thinking that his name was going to appear alongside actual terrorists, not just in some random file somewhere either. If this stuck, it would be everywhere, in every paper. There would be no getting away from it. Ever.

He clamped down on his emotions. _This is just like a bomb, Mac_ , he said to himself. _It's just evidence. Objective information. It doesn't have feelings, and you having them isn't going to get you out of this_.

As the cop across from him twisted even the narrative of his childhood, of an innocent experiment gone wrong, of being born smart and maybe a little unlucky, to fit the story of 'Angus MacGyver – The New Tim McVeigh', Mac had the entirely unhelpful urge to cry.

Somehow, having to force himself to get on top of that (because no way was he giving this guy the satisfaction), was what he needed to get on top of all of it. He felt the cool calm he was used to after that first determined deep breath, the one his CO had taught him to reach for when he really was just a kid who wanted to save American lives, settle over him.

And the cop sitting across from him registered that a wall had gone up, turning his question into almost a plea. "You have to tell the truth, son."

Mac just shook his head and looked away again. His brain worrying the edges of something that was telling him he already had the solution, but that he'd been too stirred up to consider.

0-0-0

As the team recounted the events leading up to the explosion, Jack felt almost bad. He had teased the hell out of Mac the whole way there and on the whole perimeter sweep, too. Of everyone on the team to go all soft about a holiday like Christmas, Mac was the last guy on Earth Jack would ever have expected it.

But he'd learned about Mac's irrational affinity for the warm fuzzy holiday way back in the noisy dust-covered hell where they met. Mac hadn't even let Afghanistan ruin Christmas. Jack swallowed hard. Damned if he was gonna let some dumb dead guy in a warehouse ruin it for the kid now.

And the more Jack went back over the events leading up to the explosion with Cage's gentle encouragement, the more sure he became that there was no way he missed some guy, even the corpse of some guy. He also felt himself getting angry all over again at how bad their intel had been. When Jack remembered the warehouse door being closed he wanted to kick himself. And everyone else.

When Riley finally got into the LAPD case file and pulled up Ramsey's picture and then Bozer immediately recognized him as the man he'd seen leaving the scene right before the building blew up, Jack wanted to hug them both. Then he wanted to go get Mac out of police custody with a battering ram.

Then he realized he didn't need one. They had evidence that Mac was innocent now. They just needed to figure out how to put it together so the LAPD would see it too.

0-0-0

When Jack breezed into the interrogation room, suited up and oozing ego like every cop's stereotype of a lawyer, Mac felt almost weak with relief. Then when Jack managed to spew some very convincing sounding legalese at the cops and correctly used the word abrogate, Mac thought maybe he was just hallucinating.

Then Jack's grin and victory dance convinced him that he was firmly in control of his faculties and his partner had just joined him out here on the raggedy edge. He was both happy to see him and worried that Jack was going to get caught up in this mess, too. He did feel a little better when Jack assured him Riley had gotten them some real privacy.

"That was impressive," Mac acknowledged. He had to half grin when Jack admitted he had no idea what he'd been talking about. Mac appreciated the moment of feeling normal, almost more than he thought possible.

Then Jack revealed that he hadn't been responsible for George Ramsey's death. "I didn't kill him?" he asked, needing to hear the answer out loud, not just inside his own head.

"No, you didn't kill him," Jack said dismissively, as though his favorite friendly neighborhood hero could never be responsible for killing a civilian. "Of course not."

Jack just kept talking as Mac's head found its way into his hands for a minute. Mac wanted to weep with relief, but Jack talking about needing him and his training, needing proof, brought him back into the moment. It was amazing that he didn't have to carry around the guilt of this guy's death. But, now that that burden had been taken off his shoulders, the part of him that just wanted to get out of here reasserted itself.

He knew he needed to think, so he took a breath and focused on every word Jack was saying.

Evidence … Evidence … Hmmm.

When Matty joined the conversation and pointed out that he couldn't serve as his own expert witness, instead of frustrating or discouraging him, expressions Jack was wearing on his behalf anyway, it got him thinking more deeply. Expert witness. Yeah, he was an expert, in a number of things. Mostly bombs, sure, but chemistry was a big part of that.

He started talking through it for Matty and Jack, but Jack interrupted. "You know, Mac, as much as I love it when you launch into a lecture I barely understand, we're kind of on the clock here, so what's the point?"

"Methamphetamine, Jack."

Things started falling into place pretty quickly after that, with Matty making the connection to the La Ola cartel, and Riley tracking down Hector Ruiz with no trouble. Then they figured out Ruiz's motive to kill Ramsey and dump the body in the warehouse. The only logical course of action was for Jack to head back out into the field and help chase down the evidence that would get him out of here.

"When I come back, we're gonna be leaving here. Together."

Mac forced himself to nod. He knew Jack needed to leave. Hell, he needed Jack to leave if he was going to get out of here. He just didn't love the idea of being alone with these cops again, especially since he was pretty sure the feds were on their way, too.

Jack could read all of that in his friend's eyes, so he did what he usually did. He turned himself into a distraction. "Time to get in character. Somebody say action," he said and just sat there waiting patiently.

Finally, Mac caught on. "Action?"

"There it is," Jack grinned and tipped his partner a wink.

Mac managed a grin at Jack as he slipped out the door.

He was going to get out of this.

Maybe Jack was onto something with his whole Christmas miracle thing. Because if they pulled this off, Mac might start believing in them, too.

Which meant he could probably bring Jack around about this whole Santa situation.

Anything was possible, right?


	5. Chapter 5

Mac had been left on his own for quite a while after Jack left.

Now that he wasn't tearing himself up over the idea that he might be a murderer, he was getting bored. His neck was stiff, his wrists were chaffing, and the chair was hard enough to make him think that Jack's surveillance butt pillows might be a really great idea.

He was pretty sure they were still watching him through the one way glass, and that the cameras were back up and running in the room, but he couldn't even pretend to give a damn anymore. He sighed and stretched his neck, worked on limbering up his shoulders. He hoped Jack and the rest of the team would work quickly, but he knew he could be in for a really long night.

No reason to get a tension headache just so the police didn't pick up on how much more relaxed he was now. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, not intending to fall asleep or anything, just resting. It was a habit he'd picked up in the Army. You got some rest when there was a moment to breathe to do it. Actually, if they left him alone for a few more minutes, he might actually catch a cat nap.

When the police came in a few minutes later, Mac was almost asleep. That didn't make them very happy with him. They couldn't have been accused of police brutality or anything, but the detective's younger partner hauled him up out of the chair pretty roughly. Mac just shook his head a little and held up his cuffed hands. "Easy, man. I'm not trying to give you a hard time."

The cop just gave him a shove toward the door. "Move," he ordered.

Mac glanced at both of them. He was vaguely worried the feds might be taking custody of him now, and only God knew where they might stash him. The government had an awful lot of latitude when it came to terror suspects. But, he reasoned, Riley had eyes on him anyway. This was going to be okay. He just asked casually, "Where we going, guys?"

"Downstairs. To talk," the older detective answered gruffly.

Mac shrugged. "Whatever you say, Officer."

0-0-0

Mac didn't like being herded into a poorly lit, half destroyed damp basement one bit. He spent too many nights having nightmares about a particular basement these days to remain completely calm as he was forced down the steps. But he kept his game face on. This was still just the LAPD. There was only so bad this could get, he told himself.

Then he was led into a room, stacked with construction debris and pretty much filled to the brim with feds. And the guy who was clearly the boss was about the most humorless guy Mac had ever laid eyes on. He was just about to respond to their classic intimidation banter when a hail of bullets crashed into the small room from the hallway.

Mac acted on pure instinct and got out of the line of fire, looking around for an escape for everyone. A couple of the officers were down, and a lot of the doors down here were locked but … There was an open door. When there was a pause in the noise of shots ringing out, he motioned for the men still standing to follow him.

The two detectives made it into the room with him. Even though the older man was hit, he still had his head on straight because when Mac started talking, he really listened. "He's here to kill me. He's La Ola Cartel. They own the warehouse."

The guy was also enough of a badass to give him a wry smirk and observe, "So now you start talkin'."

Mac puffed out a laugh. It was something Jack would say. That reminded him, he hoped like hell Jack was on his way back here by now, because he really didn't fancy this Christmas ending with him on the slab next to their dead meth dealer, or nursing another bullet wound. He'd already had Christmas ruined that way before. Nope. He was going to get another Christmas miracle.

But, still no sign of Jack. So maybe he was going to have to make a miracle himself. Besides, there was no keeping his cover if he wanted to get out of this alive, or if he wanted these cops to go home to their families either. "You wanna know who I am? Let me show you."

He registered their eyes widening when he had himself out of the cuffs in less than fifteen seconds. He didn't have time to explain, or even care that they were impressed. He could here the sounds of the killer coming for them outside that door. So even when the younger cop asked him what he was going to do, he couldn't be bothered to answer more specifically than, "Save our lives."

He worked as quickly as he could. His hands were stiff and full of the nasty pins and needles sensation that being stuck in handcuffs for the better part of a day could be expected to cause. But he got the job done, built a serviceable exploding dart.

Unfortunately, he hadn't had a chance to collaborate with the other guys in the room about what to do when he threw it. Seemed like they were on the ball though, because the younger cop ran full tilt at the killer and tackled him.

He groaned as he got to his feet. He'd had longer days before, sure. But right now the perspective didn't matter much, because today felt like the longest. He wasn't so tired that he didn't enjoy the older detectives face when he explained what he'd built. There was something about the wonder people nakedly wore when they realized what he did that was just a little bit fun.

Then Jack and a full tac team came through the door. Well, that was definitely it for his cover. He wondered what Matty was doing about it, as he sheepishly glanced at the cop. "Don't worry. They're with me."

0-0-0

It was very late by the time things had gotten sorted out at the precinct. Mac and Jack looked at each other and nearly cracked up when the older cop got in an argument with the EMT about whether or not he ought to go to the hospital. The cop won with a very strident, "I am taking my girls to a parade in the morning, and I am by God having a scotch in front of my TV tonight. Slap a band aid on it, and you go home too!"

Despite being nearly dead on their feet, they waited patiently to be officially dismissed by the cops, but they knew if it didn't happen soon, Matty was going to start raising some hell. She'd finally gotten Oversight on board and texted them, with Jack-levels of emojis, that they'd better get themselves back to Phoenix for the debrief pronto. Mac consoled himself with the knowledge that at least the chairs at Phoenix were well padded and the coffee was decent.

Before he let them leave, the detective had to know, "What is it you do exactly?"

Sharing a look, the partners answered simultaneously.

"I sell bathroom tile."

"I work in a think tank."

Mac was impressed that Jack didn't just go with "I could tell ya but I'd hafta kill ya," which is what he'd said to Mac the first time he'd really asked, the first time he realized the man wasn't just a Delta operator, if 'just' could be applied to guys like that to begin with.

He returned the Detective Geer's merry Christmas very sincerely. But he couldn't help poking the man's younger partner just a little on his way out for all the shoving earlier. He just walked by with an almost amused acknowledgement. "Turner." The cop nodded. He probably deserved that.

0-0-0

Matty had gotten Oversight to delay the debrief until they could get more intel on the organization that had been responsible for this fiasco to begin with, and she'd sent Cage to get that intel. The rest of them headed back to Mac and Bozer's to pick up where they'd left off.

Jack had asked Mac if he wanted to just crash and maybe celebrate tomorrow, but Mac had given him a small smile and shaken his head. "Nah, man. Might as well have our Christmas party. Seems like a waste of another Christmas miracle to just lay in bed."

What he didn't say was that there was no way in hell he was going to get any sleep after all that had happened anyway. Unless he maybe had way too much of Bozer's eggnog. Which was a real possibility. After he had a shower.

While everyone else got drinks and started exchanging gifts, he disappeared into his bedroom to just decompress under the hot water for a few minutes. Besides, they wouldn't really start the party with any kind of seriousness until everyone was there. And Cage had texted him about her success with Ruiz and that she was heading home to pick up some things now that she was finished at the LAPD. He had some time to get rid of the tension headache that he'd finally been able to feel when the tension causing it released a bit.

When he came back out to join the party, showered, changed, and feeling something like a real human being again, he had to smile at Matty's observation, "Only you can get arrested for murder and end up taking down a major cartel, Mac."

He almost bit his lip when he saw what she'd given him. Paper clips. He had a sneaking feeling that she'd watched the War Room footage of him as he'd tried to save that ship in the arctic, and come up short. He hadn't meant to reveal that Matty's paperclip ban bothered him, but it had, and honesty had felt important that night.

When Matty said with what felt like real sincerity there was no one she trusted more than him, he felt like maybe honesty was important tonight, too. Matty had, even when she was pretty hard to live with, looked out for him and his team, and brought out the best in them more often than not. He didn't want something between them; and part of him just had to know.

"With that kind of trust, we should probably be honest with each other, right?"

Something registered in her eyes. Mac was about to tell her about the film he had found in his father's burned out cabin, when Bozer brought over a gift.

Mac felt like someone had punched him in the gut. There was only one person that could possibly be from.

"This is from my dad," he said, with no doubt in his voice.

"How do you know?"

"This wrapping paper …"

After everything that had happened today, in his exhaustion, Mac knew he was going to break down a little, no matter what was in this box. And that was not something he did with an audience. He didn't even let himself do that with Boze or Jack in anything other than pretty dire circumstances.

He started to excuse himself to go back to his room, when his phone buzzed. His first impulse was to let the call go to voicemail. He just wanted to be alone and open this package. He would call her right back. But then, she was probably calling about something to do with the party. His sense of obligation as the host, and as her friend, made him answer, "Cage?"

There was no answer, just some vague noises on the other end of the line. He almost thought it was a pocket dial and was about to hang up when he heard a distinct gasp of pain.

"Cage?" he said again a little more insistently. He turned toward the rest of the team, his concern stamped on his face; and then their expressions mirrored his. When he heard a short hiccouhing breath and what might have been the word 'help', he immediately acted, with no thought to what might have happened, only that one of his people was in trouble. "Ri, something's wrong with Cage, can you track her cell phone? Matty, I think she's hurt. Can you mobilize a response team from Medical when we find her? Jack, Boze, you're with me."

The package from his father forgotten, the team moved out to save one of their own tonight.

Again.

Maybe Christmas miracles were overrated.


End file.
